Stained
by iTomato
Summary: There's a first time for everything. The ugly side of war rears it's head to the slightly unexpecting Sokka, and there is blood on his hands.


**MD**: Written for the LJ community, **sokkascrew**. Because Sokka needs more love.  
_disclaimer_: I do not own Avatar.

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It was war, and he had expected many of the things that had befallen him during these past few months. Injuries and bruises were battle scars to be worn proudly. Adrenaline quickly became a steady source of energy; food was no longer just a comfort he enjoyed—an empty stomach against a foe never boded well. He learned the difference between common sense and battle smarts, and quick thinking could mean the difference concerning life and death.

His machete was sharp; he'd spent a good half hour fixing the blade to perfection until it shimmered dangerously in the sun. His once skinny, tawny arms had built up some muscle. While it was hardly as admirable as a full-grown soldier's, the firmness turned his old feeble strength into something with might. (His physical strength was not, however, up to par with that of the scarred prince, but a silent truce between the two kept the issue quiet.)

Around his eyes, the black war paint no longer looked stupid and pointless—his chin, more angular now than it was a few months ago, helped to portray the ferocity that now radiated from the traditional Water Tribemask.

Inside the palace, the final showdown was either taking place or hastily approaching. On the outside, he was in charge; the fleet of Water Tribe ships, although technically under the command of his father, sailed to his beck and call. They surrounded all the major Fire Nation ports and bays, efficiently blocking all help from docking and setting sail. Led by Toph and the kooky king himself, King Bumi's resistance led a full frontal assault on the palace. When the time was right, he and Toph would enter the walls of the enemy and begin the destruction from the inside out.

His boomerang was constantly in the air, soaring around and colliding with numerous heads. His aim had gotten better, and he hardly ever missed an intended target.

"Snoozles! We gotta go! Now!"

Without tossing her a reply, the two of them rushed forward; the blind girl of twelve collapsed another wall, and they darted inside. The weapons she commanded with ease paraded in front of her, knocking over all who approached.

"We need to find Aang! I know this whole 'Final Battle' thing is supposed to be the Avatar's duty and all that, but it's _our_ duty to give him a hand!"

"I know that!" she snapped back, flicking her wrist and sending a marble pillar across an open hallway, sufficiently stopping the battalion marching towards them. "Why do you think we ignored the plan to begin with and came inside?"

"Any idea where to go?"

She stopped for a moment, letting her feet absorb the surrounding layout. "Not a clue," and with that, they were running again.

They reached an elaborate staircase; the railing was coated with gold, and the individual steps were carved into perfect ninety-degree angles. Up and up they climbed, turning left at the top when Toph noted some rather destructive vibrations further down the hall. Screams and smoke drowned the air, and the bangs and booms of breakdown became the background music by which they ventured.

"There's something up ahead!" she called out suddenly, hands curling into fists in preparation to strike if need be. The grip he had on his weapon tightened, and they rounded the corner, ready to face a skirmish head on.

"Sokka!"

His eyes widened upon seeing his sister heaped in a ball on the floor, her body damaged but her eyes alive with hope. "Katara!" he cried, rushing towards her.

"No! Go find Aang and Zuko! They went after Ozai—I told them to leave me here," she barked, cringing as she tried to stand. From his perspective, it appeared his little sister had broken her leg.

"What happened?" he demanded, forcing down the panic that threatened to rise throughout his being. And how had she managed to convince the two of them to leave her alone?

"I'm _fine_. I can heal myself, but _they're_ going to need help!" she groaned, exasperated as she waved her hand down the hall. "It was a stupid mistake on my part—what are you still doing here? Go!"

"I'm on it, Sugar Queen," Toph nodded, breaking into a dash in the direction Katara had pointed.

"Katara—"

She cut him off. "I'm a healer, you idiot! Aang and Zuko are _not_! Protect them! As much as they try to act strong, they're still _human_, and Ozai won't go easy on them! I'll be there as soon as I get this stupid leg fixed."

"But you're out of water!"

"Details."

"I'm not comfortable leaving—"

"Sokka! Please! I won't lose this battle because my big brother didn't trust me enough to take care of myself! I _want_ you to help Zuko and Aang right now. Please."

Reluctantly he stood, squeezing her hand. "Fine. I'll go check on them, but if they're doing fine—which I'm sure they are—I'm finding you some water."

She smiled at him, pulling her hand from his and hitting him in the leg to push him forward. "Thank you, Sokka."

"I spoil you, you know that?" he chided, shaking his head with a slight grin as he started walking away. He glanced down the hall, and then back at her where she sat paces away, only to face a sudden onslaught of fear. She stared at him imploringly, motioning for him to move on, unaware of the happenings behind her.

There, out of the corner of his eye, he had seen a spark—a firebender had lit up and was charging at his injured sister on the floor. With a war cry, he ran forward, each step he took increasing his speed as he put himself between his foe and his kin.

Logic was pushed aside as survival instinct took over—his machete whipped down, with such a speed that a light _hwip_ sound ricocheted briefly in his ears. The blade collided with something hard and tore through a magnitude of layers.

The man's eyes widened as his hands flew to his neck, falling to his knees before collapsing chest down against the floor.

Stained in blood, Sokka's machete sparkled in shades of scarlet, the color flowing down onto his hands. The weapon clattered to the floor as he stared at his shaking fingers, smeared with the blood of his enemy. The heaping rasps of the man's final breaths quickly turned into the only sound he heard, until the firebender lie still on the stone, a thick liquid seeping through the armor near his neck and into a puddle on the floor.

"Sokka," he heard her whisper, and he slowly turned his gaze on her.

It had happened in merely seconds, but the sequence played over and over in slow motion, reeling across his mind. "K—" he started, unable to finish her name. His knees collided painfully with the hard floor beneath him, but there was no flash of hurt. "K—" he tried again, but the words choked up in his throat.

Katara pulled herself to her feet as best she could, forcing her body to half walk, half crawl towards her brother. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him, crushing his hands between her chest and his. "Don't look at it, Sokka. Don't look at it."

"I killed someone."

"You had to."

"Katara, I killed someone!" he shouted in her ear, leaning forward and pressing his forehead into her the crane of her neck. His shoulders started shivering, and she tightened her arms around his back.

"Sokka, if you didn't, I'd be dead," she muttered soothingly, ignoring the searing pain crashing through her leg.

"I took his life."

"This is war, Sokka," she whispered. "We are of the _Water Tribe_, and we do what we must to protect each other."

He stiffened suddenly, pulling his newly hardened face away from the embrace to look her in the eyes. He inhaled sharply in an out numerous times, steadily forcing his mind out of its madness. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her away and smiled. "We _are_ the Water Tribe."

"Dad… Dad would have done the same."

He nodded, climbing to his feet. Holding out his hand, he pulled her to her own feet and braced her. "Now let's finish this the same way we started it—together."

Swiping his machete from the floor and swinging it swiftly to clean off excess blood, he plowed forward—as a warrior, he would not show himself in such a mess again. He had just proven to himself that he was capable of anything to protect those he loved.

With a crooked leg and bloody hands, they walked on.

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MD: End! Reviews are lovely.


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